


One Bite

by orphan_account



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: BadBoyHalo - Freeform, Bottom GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Cafe George | Georgenotfound (Video Blogging RPF), Colorblind GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), M/M, Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF) - Freeform, Top Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Vampire Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), dream - Freeform, dreamnotfound, dreamwastaken - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26520496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In 1950s - 1960s America, racism was at an all time high and vampires were at an all time low. What will Clay do to survive?
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Darryl Noveschosch
Comments: 3
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I plan on posting these every Friday or so. I will say a lot of people glorify the 1950s-1960s aesthetic and I don't plan on doing that without including the blatant racism that was always there. I won't be using offensive words that they used at the time that would be offensive now, only I would describe the interactions that did take place and things like that. I hope you enjoy.

The night was cold, the damp and humid air mixing with the bright attractive lights of the street life. Among the busybodies, all hustling for the thrill of city life; a man walked in avoidance of the lights. He was wearing a white button-up underneath a sweater and some jeans with his converse. He held his head down, careful to raise suspicion. His bangs lightly covered his eyes but he still walked through the crowds of the night.

There was a rupture from the man’s right. It was a group of motorcyclists, cheering after gaining a buzz from the bar. One, a guy with slick back black hair and a leather jacket, made the noise again and stumbled back. The greaser backed into the man in the sweater, both halting.

The greaser swung around, showing the curl on his forehead. “Are you itchin’ for a switchin’?” His words slurred, though fuming from the mouth. The man in question didn’t answer, causing the greaser to get furious again. “What? I’m askin you if you want a knuckle sandwich from me and the hood.”

The man who stayed silent looked up from the ground and stared at the greaser and his howlin’ goons. His green eyes against his blonde hair met the greasers. There wasn’t much that came out of the man’s mouth, only a mumble against the raving streets.

The greaser didn’t hear a word and spoke up. “What was that fream?”

The man spoke, letting his voice heard. “I said drop dead twice, duck ass.”

The greaser chuckled menacingly as he retorted. “Oh, and look like you?”

The silent man nodded. “Yeah.”

The greaser, filled with rage, turned to his crew (who couldn’t see the man’s face). “I’m taking this guy on, one on one.” The hood cheered and rallied with excitement as the greaser took the man by the collar and carried him to an empty alley. He threw the man to the side and got ready.

The greaser, without his posse and ready for a fight, took out his switchblade and got in a fighting stance. His legs shoulder width apart, bent down a good 45 degrees. His shoulders squared, equally relaxed.

Sadly, it wouldn’t help him any.

The man whose collar was grabbed just stood there, hand in his pockets and staring at the greaser. The man was ready for the first move.

The greaser lunged at the man with full confidence, ready to slice and dice. Only, it wasn’t that simple. It never was. The man jumped away from the greaser to avoid his attack. In doing so, the greaser fell on his face.

In one fluid motion, the man pinned the greaser and lowered his head to the greaser’s ear to whisper.

“You really should’ve apologize.”

The man bit into the greaser’s neck with his fangs, puncturing his skin and spilling the blood into the man’s mouth. The blood dripped against the greaser’s resistance. Eventually, the greaser went limp and the body turned cold. The last of the blood dripped from the holes made by the man as he pulled away, visibly disgusted.

The man spit the remaining amount of blood from his mouth onto the ground with a _ptooe!_ “Ugh.”

The man got up and brushed himself off, looking at the switchblade laying near the limp hand. The man picked up the switchblade and with a piece of his sleeve holding the switchblade he drove it into the greaser’s neck and made a clean cut to cover the puncture wounds.

The man left the alley, his back turned to the hood crew anxiously awaiting the return of their duck ass. When the man turned the corner, there was a scream, and he ascended into the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

The sleepless night for George ended as slowly as it started; with a light bright enough it could blind him. George’s insomnia was to blame, which didn’t help for his full shift today at work. George, reluctant, started the usual routine he had in his run-down apartment: showering and getting ready for his day job.   
George’s day job was nice cafe run by Darryl, his boss, a sweet man who took George in when he moved to America and got rejected by other jobs.   
As George finished tying up his laces, he quickly patted himself down to check for his keys and other thing he needed. George himself was often forgetful, but after the quick pat down he stepped outside and locked his door on his way out.  
George walked along the familiar streets towards the cafe, seeing all the same places. There wasn’t anything new in this town; hell, the idea of something being new in this area of the town seemed unlikely to George. Although, George preferred his mundane, easy to guess life to adjust to. It was comforting to George to know he has this routine to fall back on. 

George walked into the unlit cafe, going past the counter and into the dressing room to get his apron and change for his shift.   
George’s usual shift at the cafe was with Darryl and Zak, often times a part-timer Nick coming in in the afternoon. The afternoon is when the cafe becomes its busiest after all; when high schoolers and housewives with nothing else better to do go here and gaze at the handsome men. Not that George minded, as long as the customers pay.   
George made sure his belongings were safely in his locker and he tied his apron on tight enough to stay on for most of the day. When George got out of the dressing room, Darryl was out behind the register, counting the money. Darryl turned the lights of the cafe on, leaving a more blinding impact on George. When George got closer to the man counting is when Darryl acknowledged George’s presence.

“Good morning George, are you ready to bake?” The chipper man said as he out down the money and wrote on a notepad. “I already collected the money from the jukebox, but you can collect from the phone. While you do that I’m gonna clean the espresso maker.”

Darryl went to the espresso maker as George only said a “yeah” and went over to the public phone to collect the change. After George temporarily put the money in his apron pocket, he noticed that the bubblegum dispenser needed a refill and to be emptied of its coins. George quickly grabbed the gumball bag and opened the lid, refilling the machine, before opening it up and grabbing the coins (pocketing them as well.) Granted, the way George did it was more trouble than it was worth with the heavy weight. George snagged a gumball, either a yellow or a green one, and put the bag away along with dumping the money neatly on the counter.

“Done,” George said with a _pop_ of his bubblegum. “What do we need to bake today?”

Darryl, wiping the last bit of water off the side of the sink, looked up at George. “Today feels like a scone day, but spit the gum out before you prep please.” 

“Yeah yeah,” George said as he took the hardly chewed gum and threw it in the bin. “It’s only good for a few chews anyways.”

“What kind did you get?” Darryl asked. 

“Dunno. Either green or yellow; there’s not much of a difference to go off of.” George shrugged it off and went to the sink to wash his hands.  
The day went on as normal, the gawking and cooing of women followed him as he attended to the clients, serving the coffee, shakes, sodas, and baked goods. 

During the loudest, busiest times of the day; George was swamped with high schoolers rowdiness and the influx of orders. Thankfully, Nick and Zak had already started their shifts so George took this as the time to empty the trash and take a quick breather.   
George escaped, trash bag in hand, out the employee side door and dumped the trash in the bin. George breathes in and out, calming himself down enough to mentally and emotionally handle American kids and how loud they can get when they don’t notice or just trying to show off. Granted, British kids are _way_ worse when it comes down to it.   
The fresh air felt wonderful to George as he leaned against the shadowed wall and took it all in. Just as George was looking upwards and thinking about random stuff to clear his head, he heard a shuffle of footsteps coming near him. George turns his head and is met with a green hooded figure, taller than him. The man that stood beside George simply leaned against the wall and let his blonde bangs lay on his face. Without skipping a beat, the man grabbed a lighter and a cigarette out of a pack and started to smoke. 

After a drag, he spoke. “Should you be out here kid?” 

George stared at the man in confusion. The man seemed to be about the same aged as George, possibly even a tad bit more, so where did George come off as a kid? He’s even wearing a cafe uniform, although Nick is wearing one too. 

“I’m sorry?” George said, confused. The man stared back at George. 

“Are you?” 

Clearly the conversation wasn’t going anywhere. George simply sighed and stood up, turning his back on the guy. “Well, I have to go back to work.” George opened the door and said a one-sided goodbye.  
George waltzed in and immediately got back into the swing of things, picking up orders and making drinks as the others do their thing.

It took a while for George to notice; with the onslaught of people coming and going, with the different staff taking and giving orders. But once things died down, George realized that the man from earlier, who called him a kid, sat near the jukebox in the back of the counter. Drinking a coffee, eating a scone, and staring at the newspaper in front of him.


	3. 3

George felt wary of the patron. How could he not? It felt as if the man was preying upon him, which he hoped wasn't the case. Just as there were creeps in Britain, there were creeps in the US. George grabbed the coffee pot and went to the stranger, pouring his hardly emptied cup a "refill". As he did, the stranger looked up at him."Why hello."  
"Why are you here?" George lifted the pot and put it on the counter. "You're a stalker."  
"Not. I am not a stalker," He said, putting his newspaper down. "I'm merely a paying customer to an establishment my dearest friend works at."   
George huffed and rolled his eyes. "Well it couldn't possibly be me, and no one else here messes with creeps."  
The stranger waved to someone behind the counter. George turned and saw his boss waving back with a smile. _Drop. Dead. "_ You're yanking my chain." George said as he turned back to the man.  
The stranger just shook his head and pointed to his coffee. "I need you to squeeze some Bossy."  
George poured the man his milk as he ate his scone and tended to the other customers. An hour before closing, and the stranger still hasn't left. Customers were dying down, the hour of supper creeping up on the others. Suddenly, there's a commotion near the front door.   
"YOU SHOULD GO BACK TO YOUR COUNTRY!"  
George rolled his eyes and turned to see a Caucasian man being rude to a African American who strolled into the shop. He takes the wipe he was using to clean the table ( _and grumble about the stranger)_ and goes over to the man. The old man is yelling over....something...as George throws the wipe in the man's face. "Sir, I'm sorry but I'm going to have to ask you to leave," George says as the man takes the wipe off his face and glares at George. "This cafe is integrated, I thought it was clear from the sign out front." George thumbs over his shoulder to the hand painted sign that clearly says **"Integrated"**.   
The old man snorts. "Guess you'll be losing business, you and you damn kids and your motorcycles and......." He trails off, mumbling to himself about the glory days. George turns his back on the man and sees to the lady.  
"Are you okay ma'am?"   
"Thank you," she says with a smile. Her eyes quickly dart behind George and she screams. George turns around to catch a glimpse of the man before coming at him with a balled up fist. George braced himself by spinning around, forearms covering his face and closing his eyes. He winced. Only the impact never came. George opened his eyes to see the man being pinned to the ground from the stranger from earlier.  
"Oh, thanks." George said to the guy who just saved him.  
Darryl, Zak, and Nick and rush over to attend to the misbehaving customer and their staff. Zak and Nick took the pinned man by the arms and carried him out as Darryl checked to see if George and the lady was ok.  
"No, no, really I'm fine." George said with a smile. "It was thanks to that man over there anyways. He says that he's your friend...?"  
Darryl looks over his shoulder to look at the stranger, who is currently waving away the old man and talking to the other staff.  
"Yeah, I know him. I'll introduce you two." Darryl said, motioning George over to the stranger.  
"George, meet Clay. Clay, this is George." Darryl said, looking at both George and the man named "Clay".  
George spoke first. "Uh, thank you Clay, for saving my ass."   
"No problem," Clay said with a shrug. "I'm glad I could help." Clay extended a hand with a smile; reluctantly George took it with a small shake.  
"Now then," Darryl interjected. "We still have work to do."


	4. 4

The day was humid as George walked out of the shop. It's been a long day, one almost like any other. The key word here being _almost_. The one thing that set this day apart from any other was walking in the same direction as him.

"Why are you following me?" George didn't dare look back as the sun blinded his eyes.

"I'm not." Clay responded, a few feet behind George.

"You so clearly are," George continued to walk. "And for the record, I don't trust you."

"Well I never said I trusted you either."

 _GOOD_ , George thought as Clay continued to speak.

"I will say that these circumstances merely happen for a reason. Do you believe in destiny George?"

George slowed down and thought for a moment. George never really had believed in destiny. Instead of living life with destiny luring behind him, George had always moved forward with what he wanted to do as his motivation.

"Not necessarily," he mumbled as he looked up towards the sky. "There was never a need for destiny." This time he spoke clearer for the other party to hear.

"I see," Clay responded. The was silence as the two continued to walk almost side by side. Gradually the silence became unbearable for George to handle.

With a sprint, George headed off to his apartment. "Bye" was all that Clay had said.

When George reached his apartment, he dreaded the grueling work of tomorrow, and most likely the appearance of Clay. Clay was a creep, and George couldn't shake off this indescribable feeling that he had. There was no telling whether it was good or bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so sorry I dropped off the face of the earth. Crazy right? Thanks for ll the support though. <3 Sorry it's so short


End file.
